


Living Life in the City (It will Never Be Pretty)

by DoubleL27



Series: A Hazy Shade of Stevie [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Referenced Child Neglect, Stevie and the Roses, canon compliant alcohol use, hurt/some comfort, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: Mrs. Rose is going to New York for some meetings and drags Stevie along with her.
Relationships: Stevie Budd & Johnny Rose, Stevie Budd & Moira Rose
Series: A Hazy Shade of Stevie [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569649
Comments: 23
Kudos: 51
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	Living Life in the City (It will Never Be Pretty)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta [Redacted] for going through this fic and helping it be as smooth a read as it possibly could be. All errors are still mine.
> 
> Title is from the second song on III by the Lumineers, Living Life in the City.
> 
> This series largely springs from my head-canons around Stevie and my hopes for season 6. This starts to go into why I think Stevie is the only principal character of the "kids" age whose parents we haven't met and only really refers to her grandmother and great aunt as adult families.

**David:** i cant believe she took you of all people to new york

**Stevie:** Yeah, well, she did.

**David:** i mean of all the people

**Stevie:** Thanks 🙄

**David:** no i just

**David:** its the first time shes been back there

**David:** youve never dealt with her like this

Little had she known when the texts came rolling though this morning how much that would be true.

Yesterday morning, The Rosebud Motel’s weekly staff meeting with Mr. Rose had been in full swing when Mrs. Rose had blown in like the fanciest Wicked Witch of the West coming off a tornado. Her wig had been hastily placed on top of her head, her regular strands peeking out beneath it. She had swirled her leather skirt around her, purposefully Stevie was sure, for effect. 

“Oh, John! John! I have received the first invigorating news since the devastating demise of _The Crows Have Eyes III: The Crowening_!”

The scream-sobbing had finally ended two days prior. Everyone at the motel, including the guests, were thankful. The hyper-excitement flowing from Mrs. Rose now was an improvement but it still made a small skitter go down her spine. Excess emotions were not Stevie’s thing. Not many things were Stevie’s thing to be honest, aside from snarky comments and wine. Stevie just fiddled with the zipper on her favorite hoodie as she watched the Roses.

Mr. Rose stood up from his place on the couch and crossed to Mrs. Rose. “That’s wonderful, dear. What is it?”

“I have been asked to embark to New York for some tête-à-têtes with different artistes! Oh John! I am enraptured!”

The best thing about Mr. Rose, and there were lots of great things, was how happy he was for other people. A huge smile nearly split his face in two as he caught Mrs. Rose’s elbows. “Oh, darling. That’s wonderful. When do you leave?”

Mrs. Rose clapped her hands together and looked at him with fervent eyes. “Tomorrow, John. Best to strike while the iron is hot.”

“That’s true, that’s true,” Mr. Rose agreed, but in that tone that suggested he didn’t quite agree fully. “Just, are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to go so soon?”

“Indeed. Cannot let the Powers That Be forget _me_ , John.” With that, Mrs. Rose had rounded to stare right at her. Stevie had startled back slightly. “Stevie, my sweet starlet, what do you say to a voyage to New York?”

“What? Me?”

The look that Mrs. Rose gifted her with was soft and full of kindness. “Yes. You. You said yourself you are exhausted watching the world pass you by back in that dusty corner. Embark with me, view New York, take on meetings.”

One community theater production and now Mrs. Rose wanted to take her to New York City of all places. It was crazy. Mrs. Rose was crazy, in all the best possible ways.

But when was she ever going to get a chance to see New York City again? Especially considering playing Sally Bowleshad changed her view of her tiny life as surely as it had once changed Mrs. Rose’s. 

Stevie had not wanted to appear too excited, so she’d given an unaffected shrug and muttered. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”

“Moira, are you sure you want to take Stevie?”

“John, how else will our sweet songbird know if she is ready to abscond from the nest? Of course I want to take Stevie. One of you needs to remain here, John, and you will just perseverate about the hotel the whole time.”

And that was how, a little more than 36 hours later, she was fielding texts from Moira’s children while helping her down the street back to their motel. It was trash day where they were staying on the lower east side of Manhattan and there were piles of waste bags and old furniture that towered over Stevie’s head. The whole area smelled like trash and piss and Stevie had never imagined how gross New York City would actually feel. That didn’t include how she felt after going with Mrs. Rose to so many meetings.

“You see, Stevie,” Mrs. Rose slurred, stumbling as an edge of her platform shoe caught in the uneven pavement. “You cannot let the bastards get you down.”

“Yes, Mrs. Rose,” Stevie agreed politely. 

They had gone for drinks after the long sessions of meetings and Stevie wished she had kept drinking. Maybe this all would have been funnier if she were as drunk as Mrs. Rose. Somewhere around the third cocktail she had realized that Mrs. Rose was not slowing down and they were in a strange city, not close to her hotel. Survival instincts had kicked in, recognizing that someone had to be the one to get them back to the hotel safely and it would not be Mrs. Rose. 

“Not a one of those maggots would recognize a supernova of talent if it exploded in front of their myopic faces.”

“I know,” Stevie continued placating Mrs. Rose with a pat on the hand that had woven through her arm.

“I do think that Foreman might have caught on to the Meisner technique I was executing, quite flawlessly, I might add. That may be a callback,” she continued, voice turning hopeful.

They somehow made it back to their “boutique” hotel after a harrowing walk with a drunk Mrs. Rose. Stevie had decided she would rather pay for the cab to the airport over the possibility of losing whatever money they had left to having to clean out a car if Mrs. Rose booted in one. The hotel was really more or less an Air B&B run by a shady landlord with rooms that make the Rosebud in look like The Fucking Ritz. 

A text buzzed through in her phone as they headed inside and Stevie rolled her eyes at the message. 

**Alexis** : Can you tell my mom if she wants to travel for jobs, I have like seven different fan conventions for you to take her to where she won’t lose money or waste time? Thanks. 

**Stevie** : Sure thing. 

She won’t. 

Mrs. Rose was a stumbling mess right now and it reminded Stevie acutely of her own mother. Knowing Mrs. Rose liked the frequent occasional drink and being the one to be responsible for getting her into bed were two very different things. Stevie was instead her pre-teen self as Mrs. Rose over-corrected her balance onto Stevie’s shoulder, and she didn’t buckle under the weight because this was an old and familiar dance. The steps may have been rusty from disuse, but her body had already adjusted like hopping on a bicycle after years of avoidance. Her knees locked at just the right time and her spine recalibrated.

Something rang and it took Stevie a minute to place that it was a phone, not hers. 

Mrs. Rose realized a beat later that it was her own. She fumbled to remove it from her pocket, like she couldn’t make all of her body work in tandem. Just before the phone was to crash on the floor, Mrs. Rose finally caught it and Stevie caught Mrs. Rose around the waist, keeping her from a pretty awful face plant. 

“John! Oh John! What a calamitous day this has been. I cannot commence to explain how vile and cruel the auteurs were. They wanted to obumbrate my day but they will not succeed.”

Stevie could vaguely make out the sound of Mr. Rose’s voice through the phone. He sounded calm, like waves on the beach. Stevie hoped that it was going to fucking work because she needed a calmer version of Mrs. Rose. Stevie worked to move Mrs. Rose to the bed in staggering steps. 

“No! No! John, it was as if they imagined me a pathetic mongrel begging for the merest scrap. I will have you know, Moira Rose is no one’s mongrel. I have a sterling pedigree on my resume.”

Stevie managed to catch one of Mrs. Rose’s elbows, bringing her closer to upright and leaning her body against Stevie’s chest. With her that close, Mr. Rose’s words are muted but clear. “Of course you do, sweetheart. Is Stevie with you?”

“Of course she is.” Mrs. Rose began glancing around the room at everything but the woman beside her. “Stevie? Stevie?”

“I’m right here Mrs. Rose,” Stevie dead-panned, still holding her up. 

“See John, she is fit as a fiddle. I would have been desolate without our dear hot-hotelier. Motelier?”

“Moira, darling, can you pass the phone to Stevie? I have a business question for her.”

Stevie was thankful that Mrs. Rose’s head was still attached to her neck after the ferocity of a head nod that Mr. Rose couldn’t see. “Of course.”

Stevie took the phone as Mrs. Rose flopped onto the bed. “Hi, Mr. Rose. What’s wrong? Did the motel burn down?”

“Oh, no. No, Stevie. I just wanted to check on you. I know when Moira is like this she can be—“ Mr. Rose trailed off, before saying carefully, “Difficult. She is so sensitive.”

“Yeah,” Stevie agreed, knowing Mr. Rose was not seeing the woman whose shoes Stevie was undoing snoring into her pillow. “Real sensitive.”

“I hope it’s not all too much.”

The concern in his voice made her stop for a moment and consider. No one had ever really been so concerned for her before. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. 

“Mr. Rose, I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh. Ok. Do you-do you like New York, Stevie?” Mr. Rose stumbled over the words as Stevie moved to carefully remove Suzette from Mrs. Rose’s head. 

It took Stevie a moment to realize that there is a thread of worry in Mr. Rose’s voice. He sounded like she had when Mr. Rose was first getting involved in the motel. Blanking at the thought that Mr. Rose would be worried about her leaving, Stevie headed to hang Suzette up. 

“Not as much as I thought I would,” Stevie admitted honestly, turning back to survey her companion. There was no way she was going to flip over Mrs. Rose right now and try and make space in the bed they were being forced to share. Instead, Stevie settled into the ratty chair in the corner and pulled her knees up to her chest. “We have money for the cab to the airport. We’ll definitely see you tomorrow.”

“Good. Good,” he says, relief clear. “You’ll let me know, Stevie, if there is anything you need-anything that I can do for you.”

Something about his tone, that was more patient and kind than any of the adults in her life have ever been, despite the stutter, brought tears back into her eyes. “Mr. Rose.”

“I just want to thank you, for going with Moira. You’re a great kid, Stevie.”

Stevie swiped at her nose with the corner of her flannel sleeve. “Thanks, Mr. Rose.”

“If no one recognized what gems they had in you and Moria today, Stevie, they’re all fools. Selfishly, I will be glad to have you both home.”

“Did you break the online system again?”

“No. No,” Mr. Rose said, but a pause lingered, letting Stevie know that something had happened. “There was a momentary disruption of service but I kept meticulous records.”

Stevie managed a chuckle before she rested her chin firmly on her knees. “I’ll fix it tomorrow. Tell me about the craziest guest today?”

Sitting curled up in the chair, Stevie let Mr. Rose talk her through the various ongoing issues with motel guests and how crazy Roland had chosen to be. Oddly enough, she couldn’t wait to go home. 


End file.
